


Disintegration

by pickedaxe



Category: JUDGE EYES: 死神の遺言 | Judgment
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Choking, Gun Kink, Injury, Interrogation, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Psychological Horror, Sexual Violence, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:21:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27362665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pickedaxe/pseuds/pickedaxe
Summary: Kuroiwa pays Ayabe a special visit while he's in detention.
Relationships: Ayabe Kazuya/Kuroiwa Mitsuru
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	Disintegration

The room was different today. Well, he supposed all the interrogation rooms probably looked about the same, with their peeling off-white paint, ancient folding chairs, flimsy plastic tables – but the scant furniture was near the other wall this time, the paint chipped in different places, two-way mirror in a slightly different spot. It wasn’t a big enough change to throw him off balance or anything, but any small difference in the endless blur that was quickly becoming his life was worth note, he guessed. 

They always brought him in at random times, one or two of the same revolving door of interrogators waiting for him, pressing and prodding, good cop bad cop, yelling and even hitting him a few times - but it didn’t matter. He had told them exactly what Yagami had instructed him to say, and once he got tired of repeating that, he clammed up. He didn’t pay much attention to what they said to him anymore, and it kind of seemed to be working. Or, more likely, they were all so sure of his conviction regardless that it was hard for the guys at the bottom to really keep putting their hearts into it. And even if they were right, that it was inevitable, he’d make them drag the whole thing through the courts anyway. He’d been through worse. Probably. At least this option gave him a chance. 

It was just a matter of waiting out the months until his trial. He could do it. He had to. If he hadn’t had Yagami, maybe things would be different, but Yagami’s absolute trust in his version of events (the truth, as ridiculous as it seemed), filled him with strength. 

A little while earlier, the guard had roused him, cuffed him, and escorted him here with no more than a few gruff words. He didn’t think he’d seen this guy before either, but he didn’t pay much attention to them in the first place, so it could just be his imagination. It seemed like he’d woken him up in the middle of the night, or very early morning, judging by the darkness beyond the small sliver of a window in his holding cell. 

He had been pushed into the room, but the guard hadn’t followed him inside or removed the cuffs, just closed and locked the door behind him once Ayabe had cleared it. Different, but he dismissed the prickle of anxiety it brought by telling himself it was better than the usual awkward silence, those watchful eyes on him. He went ahead and sat on 'his' side, as usual, not bothering to cover a yawn while he waited. He wondered how many hours of sleep he'd actually had. Not enough. 

Ayabe shifted, trying to make himself comfortable, the jingle of the short chain between his wrists the only sound in the silent room. The cuffs were a bit much. He didn't recall showing any violent tendencies during any of his interviews, and after the first few sessions, they'd been more or less done away with. He could only chalk it up to another mind game, privileges given and taken away at the whim of some unknowable higher power. He supposed the waiting was part of these new tactics, too, but all it was doing was lulling him back into a doze. He wondered how much trouble he'd be in if they caught him napping. 

Eventually, he was snapped out of his ever-deepening haze by the clicking and jangling of the lock. The face he saw emerging through the doorway quickly jolted him into a higher sense of alertness.

“Kuroiwa…” he said in wonderment.

The man looked as perfectly put together as he always did, every detail down to the last obsessively arranged, despite it probably being 3 AM or some other ridiculous hour. Almost like he’d just stepped away from the office for a coffee break.

Kuroiwa observed him, face blank before his lip curled up just a hair, a single puff of a laugh escaping him. 

“You should try to be a little more polite with your boss, don’t you think?”

_You’re not my boss anymore,_ he almost reminded him, and it was maybe the single silver lining to this entire situation, but he was still too surprised to speak.

Kuroiwa shouldn’t be here. Sure, he arrested him, but their positions were too closely related – closer than anyone knew, actually – and besides, this wasn’t really his job. He was too busy and too important to spend night and day trying to wring a confession out of him. It was another task to be endlessly delegated to those too dull to come to many of their own conclusions, but good at intimidating. And further, if he had come to visit him on his own time out of some misguided pity, he should be facing him safely behind a giant sheet of plexiglass. Right?

The wrongness put him back on edge instantly, any remaining drowsiness disappearing like smoke. 

“You’re in a lot of trouble, aren’t you, Ayabe-kun?”

The door safely shut behind him, Kuroiwa made his way to the chair opposite Ayabe’s and settled in, one leg slightly crossed over the other, the picture of ease. 

He was in boss mode, office mode, and Ayabe concluded that it must be some kind of official business after all. Maybe it was another game. Maybe Kuroiwa had sold them on some line about how he might be willing to talk if his kind, caring senior who had arrested him on false charges and left him here to be shuffled between the same three rooms, day in and day out, gave him a little heart-to-heart. 

But god, he was the last person he wanted to see again in his life. 

“What do you want?” He tried to keep his tone flat, but it came out as pure acid all the same.

Kuroiwa could play whatever game he wanted - Ayabe was ready for his questions. It was all a matter of endurance, and he’d already endured him for however many years it was now. He could sit through it for another few hours. 

“I’m here for your welfare.”

Ayabe tried to stifle his involuntary noise of disbelief, not that it helped much. Kuroiwa laughed, barely, then leaned forward, his next words soft and low.

“You don’t have to be so hostile. ...We're closer than that, aren't we?”

Ayabe’s eyes, which had been firmly glued to the ugly, textured surface of the table in front of him, flicked up for just a moment. The insinuation meant something, definitely; it was some kind of threat, he just couldn’t figure it out yet. 

The moment passed, though, and Kuroiwa was leaning back again, reverting to his usual tone.

“Let’s just go over the events on the night of the crime one more time. You can do that for me, can’t you?”

Ayabe sighed heavily. 

“Can you at least uncuff me first? These aren’t comfortable.”

Kuroiwa smiled in the way he always did – how did the girls at the office always describe it? Refreshing? Well, it sure as hell wasn’t refreshing him now. 

“Maybe in a little bit.”

His smile didn't falter for an instant as he brushed him off. He was enjoying this way too much, but as usual, Ayabe had no possibility of recourse.

“Why don’t you start from the top?”

And so, however grudgingly, Ayabe plunged into his daily recitation from the beginning. Work, then drinks with his ‘friends,’ Yagami and Kaito - and of course, Kuroiwa himself had shown up, too. 

“Do you remember what we talked about?”

“You…” –Were being an asshole, like usual, he wanted to say but didn’t.

“What, _you_ don’t remember?” he tried.

“I want to hear it from you.” That stupid smug grin again.

“Something along the lines of... getting back to work, and you were pissed that I was talking to Yagami,” he started. And actually, he hadn’t thought about it too much; it had seemed a pointless detail in the grand scheme of things. But… 

Kuroiwa had squeezed his shoulder and promised they’d get together soon, words a whisper close to his ear that only the two of them could have heard. He almost shuddered at the recollection, glad that that particular hookup had never come to fruition, even though Kuroiwa had barely let Ayabe out of his sight for all those weeks. Guess even Kuroiwa had standards when it came to suspected murderers.

Still. No one needed to know that he’d _ever_ fucked Kuroiwa. God forbid if someone decided it was somehow relevant to the case when it finally went to trial. It was all humiliating enough without having to air _that_ particular dirty laundry.

Sure, maybe he could use it to get back at Kuroiwa eventually, at least bring his reputation down with him if it came to that, but while he still had hope, he wasn’t going to mention it. And he had near-absolute confidence that Kuroiwa would never breathe a word of it, either. That sterling reputation he’d spent decades cultivating would go straight to shit if everyone found out he’d been fucking his dirty cop of an underling on and off for the past few years. 

“Anything else?”

“Nope,” he replied, too quickly.

Maybe that was why he was here. To make sure he was staying quiet. 

“And after I left…?”

“I didn’t hang around much longer. I left the bar and started heading home, but someone attacked me from behind around halfway there. Hit my head, with some kinda blunt object. And next thing I knew, I was waking up at Children’s Park.” 

“And you didn’t see or hear anything that might provide a clue to the identity of this mysterious attacker?” His tone was heavy with his typical condescension, but there was an odd lilt to it, too. Eager, almost.

“No,” Ayabe shot back, impatient again all of a sudden. “If I did, I would have said it already.”

But he did try thinking back one more time. He should have at least heard the person coming up behind him, right? He couldn’t recall exactly where it had happened, either. His inability to provide specifics had certainly not helped his case. Had his attacker really just come up behind him on a noisy street, knocked him out, and dragged him away? How could he have been so oblivious? He’d been through the same loop over and over in his mind ever since he was arrested, and he never got any closer to remembering. 

There was one thing, though, a detail he’d never told the cops or even Yagami. He had dragged himself home after, dizzy and sick to his stomach, and passed out on the futon almost immediately. In the morning he’d checked himself over in the mirror, searching for any other damage besides the painful, throbbing lump on the back of his head. That’s when he’d noticed it. A small, dark bruise on his neck. Low, near his collarbone. It looked like a bite mark. Like a hickey. He had tried to convince himself that it must have happened when his attacker was dragging him around, but – it was so precise. Intentional.

“And you didn’t report any of this at the time… why?”

“...You know why.”

Kuroiwa was smiling. Fuck, he was practically _glowing_. The pure enjoyment on his face roiled Ayabe’s stomach.

“Do you remember wh–”

“ _And_ , if you want more details, go look at my other statements. We’ve been through it all before.” He had stopped trying to conceal anything, letting his deep loathing bleed through into his face, his voice. He’d been so afraid of Kuroiwa before, always scraping and simpering, but he no longer had anything to lose by letting his real feelings shine through. 

“...I see.” Kuroiwa’s expression faded a little. He shifted in his seat, rubbing his thighs together lightly and crossing his legs the other way. 

“...It really isn’t a convincing story,” he finished, flippant. 

Ayabe continued to glare, body tense for a few long moments before collapsing back into his seat with a sigh. Actually, what did it matter? It’s not like Kuroiwa cared how much he hated him. Ayabe wouldn’t flatter himself enough to think he’d had any trouble replacing him, either. It was Kamurocho. The man wouldn’t even have to walk a block to find another cheap, easy fuck just like him. If he’d done that before, Ayabe probably would’ve been relieved that Kuroiwa had moved on. Now he just felt even more pathetic.

“...So, they sent you here to try to get me to confess?” he asked, exhaustion seeping into his voice. 

“No.” Kuroiwa shook his head.

“Uh-huh. But you still think I did it.” Ayabe was examining a tiny crack in the wall now, desperate to look anywhere but at the man in front of him. 

“Of course not.”

His eyes were back on him in an instant, back to Kuroiwa’s ever-smiling face, so complete in his superiority. 

“There are still no direct witnesses. And, I’ll let you in on a little secret, but no one has been able to puzzle out a real connection between you and that lawyer. Much less those other victims.” 

“Then–!!”

Rage surged through him uncontrollably again. Ayabe slammed a fist on the table, the handcuff’s chain tinkling. The man himself admitted the ways the police’s theory fell apart, the things he had tried to argue until he figured it wasn’t worth it anymore. 

Kuroiwa just raised an eyebrow, though, unaffected by Ayabe’s outburst.

“Still, the rifling evidence is pretty strong, strong enough for most people, anyway.” 

He despised Kuroiwa more than he could have imagined possible, but that still barely compared to the hate he felt towards himself in that moment. He cursed himself a thousand times for ever letting himself be with Kuroiwa; to kiss him, to fuck him, to play at being together when he had always known that Kuroiwa really was exactly this heartless. 

Ayabe sucked in a breath, willing himself to calm down at least enough to speak through gritted teeth. 

“Did you come here just to tell me that?”

“No.”

The oddly clipped answer and blank expression on Kuroiwa’s face left Ayabe glaring, wordless. He stood suddenly, and Ayabe could do nothing but watch as he circled to the other side of the table.

“What are you –”

Kuroiwa leaned over him, reaching out and smoothing the tips of his fingers across Ayabe’s forehead, brushing a few unkempt locks to the side. Ayabe jerked away immediately, staring at him with wide eyes, rage momentarily overridden by confusion. 

And then those fingers gripped Ayabe’s hair, forcing him to stay in place as he kissed him. The kiss was unusually harsh, each movement colored by odd desperation. All Ayabe could feel was that tongue lapping at his lips. His teeth scraping his skin like a threat. His fingers pulling hard at his hair. 

Only a moment like this, and then Ayabe pulled back violently, ignoring the sharp pain the unrelenting grip caused to his scalp, the legs of the chair scraping harshly against the floor.

“Wh– Are you insane?”

Ayabe brought the back of his hand up to his mouth, wiping at it unconsciously as his eyes raced around the room. There were cameras and microphones capturing everything that went on in here, even if there was no one observing directly at the moment. They both knew that. So why? All his previous calm rationalizations went right out the window.

“I promised we’d get together soon, didn’t I? I went to all this trouble to keep you company, and that’s how you act?” 

“No, no that’s–” 

See, what you’re doing right now is impossible, he would have loved to calmly explain. But reality persisted, and Kuroiwa continued to stare him down even as he backed off, looking less than pleased about his jilted advances. 

“Let me ask you something. Who do you trust more? Me, or Yagami?”

Ayabe blinked, blinked, then nearly giggled at the absurd change in subject, hysteria looming, 

“Is… Is that a joke?” 

He watched the stormy disappointment in Kuroiwa’s look melt away, the mask back on, his dark eyes never straying from Ayabe’s face.

“...Perhaps that was the wrong wording. I mean, who do you think is more capable?”

Though he still didn’t quite understand what he was getting at, Ayabe didn’t hesitate.

“Yagami. Of course,” he replied, tone loaded with challenge. 

Kuroiwa’s eyes narrowed subtly at his words, and Ayabe felt a faint pulse of satisfaction at the fact that he had gotten to him somehow. 

“Hm. I suggest you take more time to think about it.”

Ayabe couldn’t help but laugh, a single hoarse note of derision. 

“Or what? …You’ll arrest me? Fuck you.”

He was done with this conversation. Done with this latest mind game or whatever he was trying to pull. He half expected Kuroiwa to lose his temper - maybe even hit him for his insolence. But he still looked relatively calm. The only thing that gave him away was Kuroiwa’s sudden grip on his forearm tugging him forward. Forcing his attention.

“I can get you out of here. I can make it all go away.” 

There was an odd urgency in his voice, Ayabe's gaze sliding off to the side in disgust. This was stupid, even for him.

“Shut up.”

“You think I can't?” came Kuroiwa’s reply, instant and unfazed. 

He barely needed to think about it. If Kuroiwa had thought himself a laughingstock when his first suspect got off free, wouldn’t it be twice as bad if his second suspect did too? He couldn’t seriously expect him to go for this. 

“...Maybe you can, but there’s nothing in it for you.”

Kuroiwa continued, ignoring him.

“Even if Yagami gets you cleared of the murder charges – which won’t happen – but even if he does, you’ll still be on the hook for selling police secrets. I’ll make sure of it,” he finished, grip becoming impossibly tighter, voice dropping low. 

“There’ll be nothing left for you. Who would hire you after that? You have no other skills. You’ll be homeless. Disgraced. Living like an animal.”

His expression gained an oddly manic edge that Ayabe had never seen on him before. Sure, he’d watched him have small outbursts, his careful nice guy facade slipping for just a moment, but this was heading somewhere new, and fast. He didn’t want to see what lay at the end of the road.

“Let go of me–” Ayabe struggled, finally, trying to shrug Kuroiwa off, but it seemed to only make him more determined. 

“There’s no way you can win unless you let me help you.” 

Kuroiwa was towering over him, cornering him completely in his seat. 

“So. Promise me you’ll cut things off with Yagami the next time he comes to visit.”

How dare he? How dare he do this to him, put him in here on charges even Kuroiwa himself suspected to be false, then come in and try to _kiss_ him, and tell him to put his trust in _him_ over the only person who’d been willing to believe him? Ayabe’s anger was burning too hot, too immediate. It drowned his pangs of unease – fear, though he wouldn’t admit it – self-righteous rage quashing the sickly feeling that had been brewing in his gut. 

“Go to hell.”

A pause. He watched the tiny flickers of anger spread through Kuroiwa’s expression before they disappeared, forced down. Then Kuroiwa smiled at him, laughed dryly, and then hit him so hard the chair toppled. 

Ayabe crashed to the floor with a grunt of surprise and pain. His jaw throbbed, the unpleasant warmth of blood filling his mouth. With a groan, he twisted himself, trying to lift his body a little despite his bound hands, ejecting a glob of blood and spit onto the floor as he did. Almost immediately, Kuroiwa’s shoe slammed into his back, pinning him down to the concrete, Ayabe crying out once more.

Just like that, the thin veneer of civility had collapsed. He had always known this was Kuroiwa’s true nature. Selfish. Egotistical. Absurdly high-handed and utterly remorseless. But knowing was different than facing it so plainly.

Maybe he’d always been afraid of something like this. Maybe that was why he’d always given in to him. Even – especially – when it came to their relationship. Kuroiwa had always been persistent, and even on the days when Ayabe wasn’t mired in enough self-loathing and booze to take any distraction that came his way, the man had ways of convincing him. Never quite threats. Not even insinuations. Ayabe just knew it wouldn’t be worth fighting him, no matter how busy, tired, or just not in the mood for his bullshit he was. 

And there was a part of him, however deep down and difficult to face, that might have enjoyed being desired by a man like that. The only advantage he had over him was the fact that Kuroiwa found him attractive in one way or another. He enjoyed being his only flaw, his only dirty secret. 

“You never acted nice, or cute, or obedient for me, but the minute Yagami showed up, you rolled right over. How do you think that made me feel?” 

Did he… think he’d been fucking Yagami? Did he do all this because he thought Ayabe was cheating on him? Putting aside the fact that they weren’t in an exclusive relationship in the first place, it just wasn’t true. And besides - well, he didn’t know about cute, but he was always, always sucking up to him. Trying to keep him happy. 

“I...didn’t...We weren’t–”

“Please. You were always an ungrateful little whore. If I hadn’t been around to keep you in line, you would’ve spread your legs for anyone.”

Kuroiwa ground his heel into Ayabe’s back again, forcing another moan of discomfort out of his mouth. 

“You thought you could avoid me, _dump_ me as soon as someone more convenient appeared. I’ll admit it. I was angry. So. I decided to use you up. And the perfect opportunity presented itself so quickly.”

“You...You…”

His mind felt sluggish, like he was struggling through mud, but it didn’t stop the implication from settling down in his chest, nearly freezing him. 

“ ...But then I realized, why should I have to throw my toys away just because _he_ wants to play with them? Rather, I should take care of the person causing the issue in the first place, right?”

Kuroiwa removed his heel, settling down next to him instead. He pulled Ayabe’s thin body into his arms easily, Ayabe too numb to remember to resist until it was too late. Kuroiwa settled him in his lap, limbs crossing over him to keep him in place. He was so absurdly strong. Even Ayabe tended to forget it, only to be reminded when he was firmly within his grasp.

“I came here to apologize.” Kuroiwa’s breath tickled his neck and ear delicately as he spoke. Ayabe was entirely still, and Kuroiwa might have seen it as compliance, encouragement, so he continued. 

“I was too hasty. And… I missed you, Kazuya. So, cut things off with Yagami, and everything can go back to–”

“–You set me up.”

Ayabe’s speech suddenly caught up with his thoughts while Kuroiwa rambled. Realizing exactly what it all meant had snapped something into place inside of him, wordless, all strong emotion without logical thought. He was shaking lightly, feeling like he would vomit.

Silence for a moment, then the huff of Kuroiwa's laughter. 

“...You’re as slow as always.”

And then it all broke, and Ayabe railed against him, full force, a tight spring suddenly released. He might just have worked his way out of his arms (though after that, he had no clue what he could do besides scream), but Kuroiwa slammed him back into the ground instead, leaving Ayabe to look up at the gun Kuroiwa had pointed at his head through blurred, watery eyes. 

It was a breathless moment, the carpet pulled out from under him, free fall. 

“You can’t,” Ayabe gasped. “You can’t. The...The cameras, and -” 

And then he stopped, because if Kuroiwa cared about that, none of this would have happened in the first place. If he wanted to kill him here and now, he would, and whether he got caught or not wouldn’t matter because Ayabe would be _dead_.

“Can’t?” Kuroiwa tilted his head, feigning curiosity, as Ayabe choked on a sudden sob, anguish and fear burning holes in his chest. 

“What’s stopping me? Hm?” 

Kuroiwa knelt over him, knees on either side, pressing Ayabe down with a hand on his shoulder, nudging the gun beneath his chin. 

Ayabe’s fingers clenched, wrists pulling uselessly at his cuffs, his entire body constricting in terror. He was going to _die_. Simple fact flayed away any pretense. 

“P...Please…” came his voice, croaking. 

Kuroiwa listened to Ayabe’s whimpers with a serene smile on his face.

“...What exactly would you do? To live.” 

“I…” He bit at his lips, tasting blood, knowing the words he had to say but wanting to resist. “A, Anything.”

Silence loomed for a moment or two, but he was too scared to look directly at Kuroiwa anymore, his eyes flitting away to some corner of the room, rapidly trying to blink tears out of his eyes. 

“...That’s right. Good.” 

He felt Kuroiwa’s posture relax fractionally, though the cool gunmetal against his skin was as steady as ever. 

“So you’ll accept my offer.”

Kuroiwa leaned over him, words said almost to himself, ghosting his lips over Ayabe’s in maybe the chastest kiss he’d ever given him. He smoothed the thumb of his free hand over Ayabe’s stubble, over his cheek, up to his eye socket, rubbing little circles over Ayabe’s now tightly shut eyelid. 

“You always make it so hard on yourself. ...But I guess it’s no fun without a little chase. You do love playing hard-to-get.”

Ayabe's hands were trembling, his heart pounding too fast with no possibility of slowing. He should have listened to that nagging unease he’d felt from the beginning and recognized that this had never even remotely been a game. His anger, his thoughts of petty revenge, the words he'd tried to hurt Kuroiwa with in his fruitless attempt to gain something back from all this, they were meaningless. Survival and appeasement. That was all that was left. Good thing he had plenty of practice. 

“Say it. You’ll dump Yagami.”

Ayabe hesitated again, but even through each shallow breath, through each disorienting thrum of panic, he could feel oddly cool certainty in his lack of options. There was no choice. He could lie, pretend to agree then tell Yagami exactly what had happened, but after that, he’d be defenseless. No one else would take his word on this. And Kuroiwa just proved he had complete access to him and wasn’t afraid of getting caught. 

“I...I will… next time he visits, I’ll…dump him.”

It was still difficult to speak, to pluck coherent sentences from his scattered thoughts and spit them out through his bloodied mouth. He tried using his work voice, higher-pitched, brighter-sounding, but even he could tell how ugly and unconvincing it was. 

“That’s a good boy.”

Kuroiwa patted his head a few times, sounding like he’d just paid him some condescending professional compliment instead of forcing his compliance at gunpoint.

“Then I’ll take care of the rest. Just be patient.” 

There was silence for a few stretched moments as Kuroiwa ran his fingers through Ayabe’s hair, bending down to kiss his forehead. Tender, romantic gestures that forced the panic that had scattered through Ayabe’s veins to resolve into granite terror at the pit of his stomach. He could see a future stretching out in front of him where he would be bound to this man forever.

“Kiss me,” Kuroiwa demanded impatiently after a moment or two. 

“I…”

I won’t. I’d rather die than let a demon like you touch me. 

Wouldn’t it be nice if he could be that noble? 

Kuroiwa lifted Ayabe’s head with his free hand, the gun still trained on him but falling away from his chin. Kiss him. It was like Ayabe had forgotten the meaning of the words. But he could feel it still, the gun, far from anything police-issue, this time poking against his ribcage.

He pressed his lips into Kuroiwa’s, left them motionless for too long before he remembered he also had to move, at least do something. It didn’t matter in the end, though, as Kuroiwa soon rumbled a dissatisfied noise and took the lead. 

This time it started surprisingly soft, full of false consideration in contrast with the violence he had forced upon him only moments ago. He couldn’t see why he bothered. All the hollow kindness in the world couldn’t erase the fact that he had no choice, that disobedience was death. This facade did nothing to conceal the yawning, infinite hunger that lurked beneath it all. Kuroiwa slipped his tongue into Ayabe’s mouth and lapped at the blood still pooling around his gums, and Ayabe couldn’t taste him at all, only the iron that overwhelmed his senses. 

He pulled him in yet closer, and Ayabe could feel his half-hard cock brush against his thigh. It all but confirmed what he was dreading. He was going to fuck him. Here. On the filthy floor of his own personal hell.

“Please, no,” Ayabe begged, gasping as he broke away from the kiss. 

Fortunately, Kuroiwa still looked more amused than angry. 

“You’re not going to turn me down now, are you? You’ll hurt my feelings.” His voice was getting subtly rougher, no longer able to conceal his building excitement.

Kuroiwa wrapped an arm around him and lifted Ayabe’s lower body, grinding their clothed crotches together. He could feel the unyielding edges of the metal pressing through his shirt into his lower back. 

He tried to think of something, some way to at least be spared _this_ , but he had a gun - he was threatening to _kill him_ \- and physically, comparing him to Kuroiwa was a joke. All he had left was to try to convince him, but Ayabe seemed incapable of forming words at the moment, only letting out a few little choked noises. 

Kuroiwa continued to drive his hips against his, fingers unbuttoning his pants now, pulling them down a bit first, then his underwear. He found his cock and started to stroke him, leaning in to lick at the crook of his neck, then scrape teeth, then bite, just hard enough to pull a whimper from Ayabe’s throat. 

“W, Wait, Kuroiwa-san…” He winced at how weak his voice sounded, the way he reverted into politeness. Was there even a point, talking to him like he was a person and not – this? 

“What’s wrong? Not enjoying yourself?” Kuroiwa asked, voice dripping with irony. Ayabe got the feeling he wanted him to beg. 

“Why don’t we–” he was cut off momentarily by another hysterical gasp of fear. “–W-wait? We could go to a hotel then, or…” He didn’t like the feeling of making promises like that, either, of building some expectation. But he could figure that out once he’d squirmed his way out of this trap. 

Kuroiwa stopped for a moment, the seconds ticking by agonizingly slowly as he seemed to consider. All Ayabe could think about was how it was all his fault. His fault for playing with something he shouldn’t have, for ignoring every warning both subtle and blatant. His fault for inadvertently giving Kuroiwa this unnatural sense of attachment.

“Why–,” Inspiration, finally, the idea of a compromise. “Why don’t I just - suck you off, instead?”

Ayabe was sure he’d refuse. He knew how transparent he was - pretending he wanted any part of this, that he wasn’t just scared out of his mind.

“...If that’s what you’d prefer.” 

Kuroiwa leaned in again, grazing his lips across Ayabe’s cheekbones, moving further, breathing out raggedly as his teeth tickled his earlobe. Then he withdrew, sitting back and letting Ayabe watch as he deliberately popped the button of his slacks, unzipping them and pulling his underwear down just enough to reveal his erection. He stroked himself once, twice, showing Ayabe exactly how hard he was, how much he wanted it. 

Ayabe felt sick at the thought of putting that in his mouth, but it was better, far better than whatever else Kuroiwa had been planning. 

He sat up a little, ready to get it over with, and Kuroiwa shifted closer to give him access, supporting himself on his haunches. Ayabe opened his mouth to take him in, angle awkward but doable. He would open by lapping at his slit that way he knew he loved. He'd appease him, then do everything in his power to get it over with as soon as possible and pray that one time would be enough.

But before he had a chance to do anything, the gun that had been held loosely in Kuroiwa’s other hand was shoved violently into his mouth, knocking against his teeth. He choked, falling back with a desperate noise as Kuroiwa used his leverage to push the metal far into the back of his mouth, touching his throat and making it spasm. 

Through the thick curtain of his renewed panic, he could hear Kuroiwa laugh. Saliva pooled and dripped down the corners of his mouth, incoherent noises all that he could muster as he struggled ineffectually to get away. 

“What’s the matter…?” Kuroiwa’s breathing was ragged now. He was jerking himself off, mirroring his strokes with the way he started thrusting the gun shallowly into Ayabe’s mouth. “Put some effort into it.” 

Tears pooled again and overflowed, falling helplessly down the sides of his face, but it barely registered in his frantic efforts to keep up, to keep himself from choking on the foul-tasting metal. He tried hollowing his mouth to fit it better, tried to move his head in time, but it was apparent Kuroiwa was making him choke on purpose. He tried not to think about how quickly it could all be over if Kuroiwa so chose, otherwise he might become completely paralyzed. 

He retched miserably as Kuroiwa shoved the barrel in as far as it would go, backing off only slightly before shoving in hard again and again until Ayabe felt the hot rush of bile fill his mouth. He could only cough, splutter in his attempts to eject the acrid liquid and stop himself from choking on that, too, feeling it spill down the corners of his mouth. 

A few moments later and Kuroiwa was pulling the gun from his mouth in a slow slide, apparently satisfied, saliva mixed with vomit trailing obscenely from Ayabe lips. Ayabe immediately turned his head to spit out the thick mixture of blood, spit, and bile that had pooled in his mouth, body shaking with each hack and cough. 

“What a mess you made.”

Kuroiwa wiped the sides of the gun on Ayabe’s shirt before he finally set it aside ( _finally_ , though Ayabe still couldn’t breathe, barely even think). He caressed his cheek, not exactly wiping his tears, just stroking his skin in rhythm. 

“I’ve always wanted to see you like this. Where you belong. Do you even realize how defenseless you looked in the back of that van? I should have just taken you.“ There was an airy, almost dream-like quality to his voice as Kuroiwa started slowly stroking himself again, drawing it out, getting off on his own words as well as the sight he’d laid out before him. 

“Waking up, no idea who’d left their semen dripping out of you… I bet your expression would’ve been priceless.”

Kuroiwa didn’t wait for him to react. Instead, he moved back to tug Ayabe’s pants down his legs, elbowing him hard in the stomach when he resisted again on instinct. He lobbed Ayabe’s shoes off too, then tore his underwear down his thighs in the same way until he was completely naked from the waist down except for his socks. 

“Kazuya,” he seemed pleased with himself, using that name again. “Look at me.”

He turned Ayabe’s chin with one hand, stabbing the fingers of the other violently into his mouth, lathing over his tongue, tracing over his gums and molars, gathering spit. 

Then Kuroiwa grasped Ayabe’s calf, lifting and pushing it down toward his chest, spreading him. Ayabe knew what he was doing, but he felt too weak to do much besides whimper, splutter out one of those pleas he’d been trying to hold back. 

“D-don’t, please–” 

He tried to force himself to struggle, but it was useless. He had him pinned completely. Kuroiwa slid his fingers out of his mouth, and soon one was drilling its way slowly inside him in a half-hearted attempt to loosen him up. 

“Stop,” he squirmed, then gasped as Kuroiwa pressed his full body weight down on him and stabbed another finger up inside him only a moment later.

“Stop being stubborn," Kuroiwa seethed through his teeth. He seemed to be forcing himself to keep it together, each breath coming out harsh, nearly panting. If he could have taken a moment to think about it, Ayabe would’ve been shocked that Kuroiwa was even bothering with this, that he didn’t just try to force himself inside already. 

Ayabe stopped trying to say anything, stopped trying to even beg. He could only lay there, shaking and moaning, waiting until Kuroiwa’s patience ran out and he finally _did it_. Kuroiwa knew very well what got him off, got him ready; he could feel him mimicking those familiar love hotel movements. A concentrated effort to force him to enjoy it, even if only on the physical level.

He had no control here, not even over his body’s reactions. It could only be assumed that was the entire reason Kuroiwa was doing it. Further humiliation. It certainly couldn't be a bid for his comfort, no matter how much he might try to dress it up that way.

Kuroiwa managed to get him half-hard, fingers curling inside him over and over, teasing out noises of fear tinged with pleasure each time, but then his patience apparently ran out. He stopped what he was doing to grasp Ayabe’s slender thighs, pulling him roughly until his ass was flush to Kuroiwa’s erection, legs spread on either side of him. His fingers pried at Ayabe’s hole, spreading him and lining himself up, Ayabe’s body tensing in a fresh paroxysm of fear. 

“P-Please,” was all he managed before his words were extinguished by a choked noise of pain, Kuroiwa pressing the head of his cock into him, woefully underprepared. 

It was blunt pain, but it burned at the same time, and he moaned out in agony through grit teeth. If he’d known it would be this bad, he would have at least struggled harder, even if all that might’ve gained him was another beating. 

“It hurts, ah, Kuroi-,” His voice was weak, cracking, and a fresh stab of pain cut him off as Kuroiwa continued to forcibly press into him.

“Then loosen up.” 

Kuroiwa’s fingers dug into the flesh underneath his knee, forcing him up so that most of the weight was on his upper back as he continued. It only served to make it that much more agonizing, every second dragging on endlessly. Ayabe tried to ride it out, tried to breathe through it, but he felt like he’d been there an hour and they hadn’t even begun. 

The tears had started up again in earnest, and Ayabe unconsciously brought his hand to his mouth, biting into flesh to mute his guttural moans. He could hear Kuroiwa’s grunts of frustration, feel his increasingly agitated movements as Ayabe refused to ‘cooperate.’ 

Surprisingly though, a few long moments later he felt him pull out, letting Ayabe’s body fall back to the concrete carelessly. 

Hope flared foolishly in his chest that he must have given up, that it was over, but he couldn’t bring himself to look and see what the other man was doing to confirm. He started to curl in on himself, a reflexive attempt at self-comfort, until he felt Kuroiwa pulling him back into place, dread flooding back in to extinguish it all.

“Wait–” he tried, but Kuroiwa had already pulled him forward again, straightening him out so that Ayabe's legs were on either side of where he knelt. Ayabe, eyes tightly clenched as he let out another string of soft whimpers, heard him fumbling with something in a few indistinct noises.

What he felt next was Kuroiwa’s fingers entering him again, just as abruptly as before, but it was cool this time, wet, making an obscene noise as Kuroiwa hurried through this new preparation.

He’d had it this whole time. But Ayabe could barely process the depths of sheer depravity that implied. Instead, he was overwhelmed with a sense of relief. 

“See how much I indulge you?” A little wisp of a laugh.

“Thank you...Thank you, I’m sorry…” It tumbled out in a breathless whisper. He shouldn’t feel so grateful, but it all suddenly felt so much more survivable. The expectation that Kuroiwa still might just kill him had never really left. Even if it was just for Kuroiwa’s own convenience, this development was promising. 

After a minute, Kuroiwa pushed him over again, forcing Ayabe’s knee to his stomach. This time, he could enter him relatively easily, at least much less painfully than before, Kuroiwa letting out a satisfied almost-moan as he pressed deep inside him. Ayabe whimpered, that feeling of fullness so familiar. It was easy, almost natural, to just – let him. 

“Say it again.”

Kuroiwa started to move, Ayabe panting with every thrust, a tiny sound leaking each time. And it wasn’t that he intentionally tuned him out, but it was getting so hard to stay _there_. Head rapidly becoming blank, he could feel nothing but the physical effects of his terror and Kuroiwa, touching him, inside him. Nothing else was real. 

Kuroiwa hit him across his face again. He was holding back – had been this whole time, the vague thought came and went. But only enough to spare Ayabe’s teeth. 

“Thank me. Say it.” 

He understood. It was just a matter of forcing it out of his mouth. 

“Th, thank you…thank you,” he repeated, over and over and over again. 

Kuroiwa pulled Ayabe’s leg over his shoulder, a new angle, and his cry of surprise was what put an end to his little mantra. It felt so impossibly deep. He imagined wildly that Kuroiwa must be tearing him apart inside, forcing his body into new, foreign shapes, molding him to his desires. 

“Ah… fuck…” Kuroiwa’s voice was strained and breathy, sweat beading on his forehead as he exerted himself. Before, this had been the part Ayabe had enjoyed the most. He’d always watched intently, getting off on the way Kuroiwa, like anyone else, couldn’t help but crumble when he was close, so desperate for a low-life like him.

But he felt the exact opposite now. The few glimpses he’d let himself have of Kuroiwa’s face only made him shut his eyes tighter. That expression - wide-eyed, ravenous - was eating him alive, raking over every inch, fervor gleaming in those dark pupils. 

He knew they were nearing the end, but Ayabe couldn’t tell how long it had actually lasted. Every thrust, every pant and moan from his lips blended into one long, endless moment. This was just where he existed now, it seemed, eternally subjugated, helpless as Kuroiwa took and took until there was nothing.

But it did eventually end. Just as he neared his climax, Kuroiwa gripped Ayabe's neck, pressing him down with his body weight into the floor. Ayabe’s constant panting cut off, reduced to gurgles. Kuroiwa bit him, teeth sinking into his shoulder, piercing the skin as he came inside him. 

Almost as soon as Ayabe had registered all this new pain, it let up, only the pulsing aftereffects to remain. He was dazed, still coughing, but he could feel the warmth of Kuroiwa’s semen inside him, the unpleasant sensation lingering after Kuroiwa pulled out of him, letting him lie limp. 

Ayabe had never felt so exhausted. He lay there, eyes closed, feeling lightheaded and sick as his breathing eventually slowed. He prayed he would sink into unconsciousness, leave all of this raw, new reality for him to try to comprehend later. He knew he was still helpless, that Kuroiwa might still plan to torture him further, maybe even kill him, but he just didn’t have the energy to care anymore. 

“Mnn…”

He murmured out a groan, feeling Kuroiwa’s hands skating over his skin. He felt him spreading his thighs and, a new swell of nausea rising in him, he opened his eyes.

Kuroiwa was taking pictures with his phone. Thorough and clinical. Documenting him almost like it was one of his murder scenes. Kuroiwa’s fingers soon found his chin, turning his head so he could snap a shot of the swelling on his face. 

“Something to remember you by,” he told him, smiling. 

He thought he'd run out, that he'd finally managed to go numb, but it all hit him again and he gagged, though he couldn't do much more than turn his head and cough as he tried not to choke. Kindly, Kuroiwa lifted Ayabe to lean against him, sour bile leaking out of his mouth and staining the front of his shirt. That didn't matter, though. It was already ruined anyway. 

“You’re disgusting...” Kuroiwa said with a click of his tongue, but his tone was soft, cooing, nearly fond. 

He produced a key and unlocked Ayabe’s cuffs - just as promised. He cradled one wrist in his hand, smearing a tiny stripe of blood with his thumb from where Ayabe’d unknowingly rubbed it raw. 

“It’s a shame. I don’t want to leave you.” 

He would leave. Leave. Ayabe latched onto that word as his final lifeline. He wouldn’t dream of imagining himself safe here - look how easy it had been for Kuroiwa to do this – but he’d at least have some time. There had to be _something_ – something he could still do. 

“But I'm glad we had this talk at least,” Kuroiwa said. “I hope you’re still clear on what we agreed?”

Ayabe couldn't get his tongue to move, his lips parting slightly with a quiet breath. 

“Ayabe.” It was almost incredible how quickly he could banish any kindness from his tone, veering instantly into pure threat. 

“I...yes.” The faint scrape of a voice that came out surprised even him. "...I understand."

“Good boy.”

*************

The funniest part was that nobody seemed to care. He’d thought there might have been questions from _someone_ , but so far not a single person had acknowledged any of it. Not the dark, obvious bruising on his face and neck, starting now to yellow and green; not his ruined clothing or the mess they must have left behind in that interrogation room. His routine had continued almost totally unaffected except for the inconvenience the lingering pain had brought him. Even he was almost able to pretend, if he tried, that everything was - not fine, but not so overwhelmingly, maddeningly hopeless. 

He had spent the last few days trying to come up with a plan, with some feasible third option. Unfortunately, Yagami had come to see him again sooner than he’d expected. 

“Ayabe? What happened to your face?”

Ayabe touched at the bruise unconsciously, flesh still tender beneath his fingertips. 

“This? …Guess I got too mouthy.”

He watched Yagami’s expression set into a grim sort of anger - nice of him to actually care - while his young partner looked totally scandalized, like he’d never heard of such a thing before. Well, he had a lot of time ahead of him to learn. 

“...I see. Well, we came here today because we had something to tell you…”

He did his best to try to look even a little surprised at what Yagami said next.


End file.
